Finding Home in Dolphin's Cove

by Kellie Hailes

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

All Kenna Sanders has ever wanted is to find a place she can call home. So when her grandmother leaves her failing bait shop business to her, Kenna sees a chance at building a stable life in the Cornish village she was born in but never knew. But her grandmother's will has one stipulation: she has to share the cottage with a total stranger!

Kyran has lost everyone he holds dear and now his business is on the verge of collapse. The last thing he wants is for a woman to waltz in, promise to make it all better, and stir up feelings he's long supressed. Especially a woman in such close proximity...

Kenna has an idea to save the business: set up a fishing festival to reinspire interest in the bait shop. As they work closely together, attraction quickly sparks between them. But while Kenna is looking for forever, Kyran is too afraid to get hurt again. Can they find a way to make the festival a success and escape with their hearts intact?

A warm and uplifting romance, Finding Home in Dolphin's Cove is perfect for fans of Jessica Redland, Tilly Tennant and Donna Ashcroft.

Release date: August 23, 2022

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 336

Sample

It wasn’t so much that she’d just been shat on by a seagull that annoyed Kenna Sanders, it was that the seagull had chosen to relieve itself three whole seconds before Kenna was due to open up shop and start her new life as the owner and manager of Fishful Thinking, Dolphin’s Cove’s best – and only – bait shop.

Not just Dolphin’s Cove’s bait shop. Her bait shop. Left to her by the grandmother she barely knew, along with a cottage she’d apparently spent time in as a toddler, before her mother had decided their life was better spent elsewhere. So much so, that they’d not once returned; not even for a visit.

Glancing up at the brilliant blue sky, Kenna shook her fist in the direction of the circling seagulls, whose cries smacked of ‘Haha, did you think coming home would be easy?’

Of course she’d not thought things would go swimmingly. At least, not initially. Not while she was still finding her feet in the quaint Cornish village, but she’d hoped to at least get the door to the shop open while still looking presentable.

Heaving in a lungful of the pungent, briny air, Kenna closed her eyes for the count of five.

She could do this.

She could manage a store.

She could ingratiate herself with the local villagers.

She could create the home she’d dreamed of, but never felt in her heart.

‘It’s 6.01. You’re late.’

Kenna opened her eyes and spun round, ready to tell the man with the unimpressed tone that he could hold his horses for one hot minute, that the bait wasn’t going anywhere.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She shut it, breathed in once more, then opened her mouth again in readiness to give him a polite dressing-down.

Still no words.

Great. She must look like a gawping fish. At least she’d look like one of the locals … well, if she suddenly grew a tail, fins and was covered in scales.

‘6.02.’ He tapped the chunky black watch on his wrist, his thick black brows rising, emphasising his point. ‘Unless you’re not Kenna, in which case you’re breaking and entering and I’ll have to call the authorities.’

Mr Impatient may have been ridiculously attractive with his head of lush, wavy raven-coloured hair that was tied up in a manbun, penetrating umber-brown eyes and shoulders that were so wide they’d look out of place on anyone who didn’t have the height he had to put them into perspective, but his blunt, bordering on rude, manner was making his hotness level decline at a rapid rate.

‘I am Kenna, so you can forget about calling the police. And you are?’ Kenna turned her back on His Royal Rudeness, slotted the key in the door’s lock and pushed it open, cringing at the shriek of rusty hinges.

‘Your business partner.’

‘My what now?’ Kenna jumped out of the way as her supposed business partner strode into the shop, opened the old fridge-freezer that sat next to the cash register and began pulling out bags of bait. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong place. I don’t have a business partner.’

‘Sonia didn’t have her lawyer tell you?’ He dumped the bait into a cool box. ‘Of course she didn’t. God, even in death your gran likes to keep me on my toes.’

He straightened up and thrust his hand out.

Large, strong, capable-looking. On any other man she’d be imagining his hand grasping her waist as she was picked up and thrown over one of those ridiculously big shoulders, then carted off to bed. On this guy?

After his rude welcome, she’d sooner eat the bait in his coolbox than let him touch her like that.

The hand dropped and was followed by an unbothered shrug. ‘Fine. Don’t shake my hand. Don’t open the shop. In fact, why don’t you just take those no-good-for-being-on-your-feet-all-day blue shoes and put them to good use by walking out the door and leaving the running of this place to me. Or better yet, we could close the place up and call it done.’

Kenna fought the urge to glance down at her ballet flats that, up until two seconds ago, she’d thought were perfect shoes for running a fishing supplies store. Flat, comfortable and not blue – but aquamarine – to match the sign hanging out the front, which was now more of a faded and flaked shade of aquamarine than the brilliant, bright shade she’d seen in the picture the lawyer had shown her.

Still, as shabby and tired as the sign was, it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with a bit of sanding and a lick of fresh paint.

She tilted her chin and pulled herself up to her full height of just over five foot six. There was no way she was going to let the brute before her bully her into submission or out of her shop. ‘I’m not going anywhere. This was Gran’s place, she left it to me in her will, and it’s now my job to run it. Which means closing it is not an option.’

‘She left her share to you. And you’re doing a bang-up job of running it by opening late. The early bird gets the worm has a whole other meaning around these parts. Early birds sell the worms, and don’t go out of business. You really ought to have opened up at five.’

Five? Kenna’s brain fuzzed at the thought. Even at this time of day she was barely functioning. At five in the morning she was a snoring zombie.

‘And do you know you’ve got seagull shit on your head?’ He shook his head and clucked his tongue in a blatant show of disgust. ‘I should’ve sold my share of this place when I had the chance. Gotten out before the going went even more to hell.’

He dragged his hand over his eyes. His shoulders slumped like the weight of the world had been placed upon them. Or perhaps the weight had already been there, and he was tired of carrying it.

Kenna tried to process their short but fraught conversation while taking in the shop. She noted the dust nestled along the windowsills, the webs in the corners of the room, the spaces on shelves and along the wall where stock ought to be.

‘So what you’re saying is that you also own this place? And that it’s in trouble?’ That the shop wouldn’t automatically bring her the simple, secure life she’d hoped for.

Kenna pressed her lips together as exhaustion, caused by a combination of a ten-hour trip on the bus from Leeds, followed by a fretful night’s sleep at a local B&B, along with the crushing disappointment that the security, the happiness, the reason to be that she thought she’d find here, was non-existent.

‘The state of the shop isn’t enough of an answer?’

Kenna didn’t think a person could look any less impressed, but her newly discovered co-owner somehow managed it.

‘I don’t know. I mean … It’s rather gloomy in here. Hard to see. Probably because the windows are filthy.’ Kenna shook her head as annoyance dashed away her embarrassment. Why was she letting this random guy get under her skin? ‘But it’s nothing that a bit of elbow grease can’t fix.’ She hoped. ‘Anyway, I need to get the store open, and then …’ She spotted what looked worryingly like mice droppings by the counter. ‘Then I need to get my elbows into action. Have you even bothered to run a rag over the dust, like, ever? Or was that women’s work? Did you leave it up to Gran?’

Not waiting for an answer, deciding she’d proved her point that she could give as good as she got, Kenna spun on her heel and marched towards the door at the back of the small store that she assumed led to a storeroom and bathroom. She pushed it open and nearly gagged as she inhaled, needing fresh air, only to breathe in more dust combined with the nose-wrinkling stench of a toilet in desperate need of a scrub.

‘Honestly?’ she said to no one in particular. Was it really that hard to squirt a bit of bleach and then run a brush around a toilet bowl?

Having worked for a cleaning company after leaving school, experience had taught her that it was, in fact, for some people, that hard. Luckily she could handle a rancid bathroom, as well as a truckload of dust and grime.

‘I don’t believe in “women’s work”. I believe in work.’

The dim room further darkened as her newly discovered co-owner filled the doorway. Was the man part-giant on top of being a total grump?

‘And Sonia wouldn’t let me touch a cleaning product. She once caught me trying to pick up a cloth and the spray bottle – third shelf down to the right, if that’s what you’re looking for – and she slapped my hand so hard it stung for half a day.’

Was that a note of affection she heard in his voice? Despite her irritation, a smile crept upon Kenna’s lips. She hadn’t known her grandmother all that well. Or even remotely well. What she did know of her was from the rare occasions her mother had brought her up. Four foot ten and full of spit and fire, her mother had said. Almost admiringly. Definitely begrudgingly. And not without a hint of warning: Kenna’s grandmother was to be kept at not just arm’s, but country’s length for their own good.

According to her mother, her grandmother had been indomitable. Had never let anyone get in her way or tell her what to do. Legend had it – or at least the tale her mother had told her – was that when her husband had cheated on her, then come back begging for forgiveness, she’d booted him out – literally – deciding she’d rather raise their child on her own than put up with a no-good, cheating scoundrel. Locals had tried to gently suggest that it would be hard for her to go it alone, but whenever the subject had been broached she’d told them to pull their heads in. When they said she couldn’t raise a child and take a job on a fishing boat, she’d told them to bugger off. When they’d said she couldn’t raise a child, work on the boat and start up a shop she’d not said a word – only given them the two-finger salute.

Kenna’s smile morphed into a fully fledged grin. ‘From the stories I’ve heard, she really did sound like quite the woman.’ I only wish I’d been able to spend time with her. Get to know her. In a way not tainted by her mother’s opinion.

Tears rose, blurring the shelves before her. She blinked them away, not wanting to show weakness in front of a stranger – in front of anyone. If only her grandmother’s feisty spirit had softened when it came to her mother, to her. Perhaps then they’d never have had to leave the village; her mother tired of having every aspect of her life picked over and found wanting. Tired of searching for signs of affection, only to find derision. Disappointment.

‘You’ve no idea, Kenna. She was terrifying. Nothing I did was right. Nothing you do will be right. Anything you do wrong she’ll blame on me. We’re best just to stay away.’

And stay away they had. Her mother refusing to step foot in Dolphin’s Cove, even to attend the funeral. Kenna too afraid of what she’d discover if she visited as an adult – of how she would be found wanting. How? More like how many ways.

She’d just scraped by in school.

Hadn’t gone to university.

She wasn’t an entrepreneur.

She rarely stood up for herself.

And when life looked like it was getting too hard she picked up and moved on. Much as her mother had done before her.

It was how, together, she and her mother had bounced from town to town, job to job, never settling for too long, keeping those who could be friends at a distance, always upping and leaving before anyone could find a flaw in their personality or work ethic. The two of them a team who stuck together no matter what. Until now.

Kenna may not have met her grandmother, but it seemed the shadow of her ways had followed Kenna around anyway, with her grandmother’s impact on her mother now impacting Kenna herself.

For the first time, she’d rebelled against her mother’s pleas to avoid Dolphin’s Cove, causing their first real argument. She’d hated how they’d yelled, how her mother had begged her to stay, how she’d refused and, finally, how they’d left things – Kenna getting on the bus with no hug or words of advice from her mother; just her suitcase and a head full of worry, determination and certain knowledge that this was her chance to find out who she was, to rediscover her roots, to ground herself once and for all. An opportunity she couldn’t let go by.

She fisted her hands as she caught sight of a pair of grandmother foot-sized wellies. A symbol of strength. Of what could be achieved when you dug in, when you didn’t listen to what others had to say, when you followed your dreams and lived life on your own terms.

Kenna had no idea why her grandmother had left the business – well, her half of it – to her, but she had, and Kenna wasn’t going to give it up or walk away from it. She was going to channel her grandmother’s ways, and that meant standing up to the man behind her.

‘Mum always said Gran had a quick hand.’ She reached for the cleaning products and turned back around. ‘Don’t know that she’d get away with that kind of thing these days.’

‘She swiped me up the back of the head a week before she died.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think she cared much for what other people thought. It was one of the many reasons I liked her.’

Despite the thick beard that hid a good half of his face, despite the gloominess of the room, Kenna could swear she saw his cheeks pinken. A thought struck her. Out of the blue. Like a lightning bolt on a sunny day.

Did her grandmother and this hulking man have a thing going on? Were they involved?

It wasn’t the maddest thought. Sure, he would have to be half Gran’s age, at least, but that wouldn’t have stopped the grandmother she’d been told tales of. And even in her late sixties, if the photo in the funeral booklet was anything to go by, she was a very handsome woman. Her small stature was made up for by sharp cheekbones and a strong nose, paired with voluptuous lips and piercing green eyes – looks Kenna had inherited, albeit with a touch more height thanks to her long-gone father. The inability to find a decent, stable man apparently being a trait of the Sanders women.

If she really put her mind to it, she could see the two of them together.

Although clearly it could only have been a physical attraction, because so far he wasn’t giving off anything personality-wise that Kenna found attractive.

‘Do you even have a name?’ The words blurted from her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Or are you hoping that by not giving me one I’m going to give up and go away?’

His lips kicked up into a smile, revealing fleshy pads of cheek that softened his overall appearance, and made him somehow even more attractive.

‘You caught that, huh?’

‘I’m the granddaughter of a fishing-supply store owner. I catch a lot of things. It’s in my DNA,’ retorted Kenna. ‘So? Are you going to duck and dive the question or just tell me?’ She matched his smile. ‘Because I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Really? You think so?’ He leaned against the doorway, shoved his hands into his cargo shorts pockets and crossed one booted foot over the other. ‘Well then, Kenna Sanders, let me tell you what you’re in for, because it’s clear your grandmother’s lawyer has done nothing more than say “Congratulations, you’ve won a fishing-supply store”.’

Kenna’s gut twisted. Why did she have a feeling she was about to be brought down to reality with the kind of bump that would leave her unable to sit for a week?

Mr No Name lifted his clenched hand and cocked his thumb.

‘The business is failing. Your gran’s temperament didn’t sit well with the locals. Many prefer the fishing supplies store one village over. On top of that, her health meant it became harder for her to get here early enough, and she refused to get help in. This meant …’

Kenna hated how he was speaking to her. Slowly. Patiently. Like one would talk to a child who refused to do as they were told. Part of her wanted to reach over and pinch his lush lips shut. Another part knew that she needed to hear the truth if she was going to make a go of things here.

His index finger rose. ‘This meant that we lost the few regular customers we had. Also, the fishing charter business is barely ticking over. The tourists can’t easily find us because we don’t have a website – I don’t know how to make one and Sonia had no interest in modern technology. And, further to that, since your gran died things have slowed down even more because I’ve been trying to be in two places: here and on the boat.’

Another finger lifted.

‘This means we have minimal cash flow.’

Another finger.

‘We can’t afford new stock.’

And, finally, his little finger.

‘And your gran’s lack of customer service meant any words spoken about Fishful Thinking are not what you could call glowing, and I don’t know if that’s something that can be easily repaired with a fresh face at the counter.’ He shrugged. ‘Frankly, I think people need to calm down. Sonia was a good woman. People ought to be as open as her. At least when it came to her, you knew where you stood.’

And there was that pinkening of the cheeks again.

Just what kind of relationship did they have? Colleagues by day and lovers by night? Kenna shook the thought from her head. Now was not the time to be thinking about her grandmother’s sex life. Hell, there was never a time to think about that.

‘So even if we were to try and make things work here, tourists aside, there are a fair few locals – also known as our bread and butter – who would sooner give up their nightly beer than cross the threshold of this place again.’ He lowered his hand and his shoulders rose then fell in a silent sigh. ‘So what I’m saying is that there’s no point in sticking around. The business is failing. My thoughts are to sell the business, take what we can get, and for you to go back to wherever you came from.’

Go back? There was more of a chance of her taking a running jump off the wharf right now than there was of her heading back to Leeds and listening to her mother say ‘I told you so’.

No, where there was a will there was a way. And she had all the will in the world to find a way to make this work.

‘You know, I’m good with customers. I’ve had tons of experience working in shops. Counter work mostly, but I can stock a shelf and tidy up after myself. I’ve also worked as a cleaner in offices and in private homes, so getting this place in tip-top shape will be easy.’

He exhaled a long, pointed sigh. ‘That’s all well and good, but what experience do you have on the water? Have you fished? Do you know anything about rods and reels, or which bait or lure fish prefer?’

Kenna’s heart and hopes sunk. ‘Well, no. Not so much. I have vague memories of Mum taking me fishing when I was little.’ Brilliant sunlight blinding her to the blue waters. The thrill of the tug on a line. The laughter at lifting a sprat, then sending it back to where it came from. She chose not to mention her memory of their last fishing adventure, which had ended with the reel in the drink and her mother cross with her for being so careless, knowing it would add to her new business partner’s already lacklustre thoughts on her ability to help run the business. ‘But I can learn. I’m a quick learner. I’ve picked up enough skills with all my different jobs that I reckon there’s not much I can’t do if I put my mind to it.’

‘You’ve had lots of different jobs? Is that your way of saying you’re going to leave me in the lurch? Get bored and take off? Because there’s no point in this going any further if you’re not going to stick around. Better just to put the business on the market now.’

‘I’m not saying I’m going to leave you in the lurch. There’s a difference between this place and all the others I worked at. This is mine, and from the sounds of it …’ An idea began to form in her mind. ‘Things are going slow, right?’

He nodded.

‘So that means you have time to teach me the ropes. Or the lines. Or the reels. Or whatever it is that needs teaching.’ Kenna raised her brows and forced her eyes as wide and pleadingly as she could.

‘Why do I feel like you’re about to start up with the “pretty pleases” and the “with sugar and cherries on top”?’

‘Because maybe I am?’

His lips quirked to the side.

Triumph surged through her. This was it. She was getting through to him. He was going to say yes. She would have a proper career. A home to make her own. A life to live that wasn’t dictated by loyalty to her mother, but of her own choosing.

His broad shoulders, attached to ridiculously burly arms, rose and fell once more.

She had him. Success ahoy!

‘No. Can’t do it.’ He shook his head, turned from her and sloped back into the shop. ‘I’m not pinning my hopes on someone I don’t know. Who I can’t trust. I’ve lost enough as it is to waste time on someone who will only see me lose more.’

Anger rose fast and fearsome, heating Kenna’s blood. How dare he make it sound like the shop’s failing was all her grandmother’s fault? He could’ve turned things around at the shop. Could’ve put in the hard yards the way her grandmother apparently had to get it going. Instead he’d obviously thought his job was to simply go out on the water and be Mr Aye Aye Captain. Well he could take his pirate hat and stick it where the sea didn’t sparkle.

Gritting her teeth, Kenna stormed into the shop to find him halfway out the door.

‘Stop right there.’ She whipped her arm out and grabbed his elbow, pulling him to a stop. ‘You don’t get to make the decisions just like that. This business is half mine. And I’m wholly not leaving. Whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, for better or worse.’

He twisted around, glanced at her hand clasped around his elbow, then glanced back up.

‘For better or w. . .